Snowstorm
by Ellipses
Summary: Hermione's on detention and her teacher has just ducked inside to escape the mid-December cold. Who will rescue her from the snowstorm? Harry, of course. H/Hr **Permanent hiatus**
1. Detention

**Title:** Snowstorm  
**Author:** Ellipses  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** H/Hr  
**Disclaimer:** You know the drill...none of the characters belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling, the publishers (Bloomsbury and Scholastic) and various other constituents.  
**Summary:** Shock, horrors. Hermione's on detention and her teacher has just ducked inside to escape the biting cold. Who will rescue her from the snowstorm? Harry, of course.  
**Dedication:** God bless all Canadians. I love the snow now... Don't ask. And also, I dedicate this to every person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting because of fandoms through the years, especially Andra, Mexx, Apolla (who used to be Apollonia and is not to be confused with any other Apollas), Jenilee, Michelle, Mariah, Emily B, Britanyca, Kelly Rowe, Adia and of course, Phil S (whom I'm still waiting for instalments to various series from). Sorry about the rambling...  
**AN:** I'm fumbling blindly. There's one line I've written which I wasn't sure about because I've very stupidly leant my copy of PS/SS to a friend. Oh yeah, it's set in sixth-year and **CONTAINS BOOK FIVE SPOILERS.** It's an idea I intend to complete this time and it will be multi-chaptered. Oh, and if you don't fancy the idea of Harry being Hermione's knight in shining armour...then...what's wrong with you?? Ooh, and I warn you, I don't like Ron much and any character I don't like slips my mind even if they're important so I don't write them in as much as I should. So don't ask where Ron is, cos I don't like him *and* his ways. Please REVIEW!!!  
**AN2: **I am my own beta. And also, I base some of it on what happened in the films. I know them better than the books. I'm in the midst of re-reading. I've just started GoF again and to make it more than just a book, I'm reading every single word aloud. Wish my throat luck...  
  
  


**Chapter One**

"But Professor, I would swear in front of the Ministry that I didn't throw that Dungbomb. It was Dean Thomas, Professor," Hermione pleaded through chattering teeth. It was the middle of winter and Hermione Granger found herself stuck outside serving detention by clearing the school's driveway of snow. The Muggle way, of course, seeing as it would be much too easy for her to cast a simple heating spell to melt away the snow and ice that had accumulated.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger, but there is no way you could prove that the wrapper in your bag was placed there by someone else. The driveway needs cleaning in preparation for the arrival of the Ministry officials in attendance at this year's Yule Ball," the professor said, giving her wand a flick so that several different-sized shovels appeared in front of them along with a large wooden bucket. "I'm sorry, but as much as I'd like to do this the easy way...detention is not about being slack. Now move along dear, while I duck inside for a hot chocolate."

Hermione sighed as she watched her teacher hurry back into the castle. It seemed as if the driveway stretched further the longer she looked at it. The mention of hot chocolate made her want to just run back inside and curl in a comfortable armchair in front of the common room fireplace with her friends. However, they, too, were outside freezing their noses until they turned pink. It was Quidditch practice tonight and their next opponents were to be Ravenclaw, who had just acquired new brooms for their Seeker, Cho Chang; Keeper and both Beaters.

Gryffindor's team was improving, with Ginny replacing Angelina Johnson as the third Chaser. Ron had spent as much of his summer as he could practicing against his brothers and Ginny, who all gladly volunteered to pelt him with balls of all sorts—Quaffles, soccer balls, footballs, deflated basketballs and balls of tied up socks (courtesy of Fred and George).

Hermione paused during her shovelling to wonder how the Gryffindor Quidditch team would fair this year now that Harry was captain and now that they had a decent team put together. Although Gryffindor sorely missed the Weasley twins' antics, it was time to move on and find some young blood. Preferably twins again—it was effective for confusing of the opposing team.

She stabbed the shovel into the hard earth on the side of the drive and took in the sight of falling snow. Even though it was ruining all her hard work, it didn't make it any less beautiful to watch...and to feel. She had snowflakes in her eyelashes for a moment; it made her feel like she had died and gone to heaven. Warmth stirred in her stomach even though her skin felt frozen and chapped.

She turned her gaze back down at the snow-covered ground and wondered whether hanging from the dungeon by her thumbs would be safer than staying out in the freezing cold whilst doing hard labour. Her mother had always warned her that sweating when the weather's cold could cause the chills. Hermione had always taken it upon her to listen to her mother—about cleaning her teeth at least twice a day with toothpaste, floss and mouthwash, especially—but this time, the falling snow seemed to beckon to her as if trying to lure her away from going back inside where she would most certainly be forced to admit that she had failed to complete her detention and would simply get another one to further mar her record.

And it was utter bliss.

As a child, she'd never had much experience with snow as it never snowed where she lived. Thankfully, she wasn't the only one who'd never been skiing in Switzerland or whatever the rest of her year who were in Gryffindor claimed to have done. Harry, humble as ever, had been right beside her at the window that morning during their first year when they had seen real snow for the first time in their lives. Together, they watched it falling with both arms out the window hoping to catch a few flakes in their hands. If she didn't know better, she'd think that snow was magic.

Hermione breathed in the chilly winter air and stopped in her thoughts to continue the arduous task of clearing the snow from gate to doorstep. She was just lucky that the driveway was quite narrow, or else she'd be there until Christmas. She hummed to herself while she worked and rested every few shovelfuls. Every time the bucket was filled, she was to toss the contents around some bushes and then repeat the process. It felt like the longest hours she'd ever had...well, after the repeated 3 hours in third-year during Sirius Black's escape on Buckbeak, of course.

But thoughts of Harry's godfather always turned sour when her mind wandered...back to the happenings of the end of fifth year. Even though she was proud of the DA's efforts against a group of fully-grown Dark wizards, sadness always came to her when she thought too long about it. She could see how it had affected Harry and how it continued to do so because of the death of one of the best people she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting and accusing of murder. They had been grand times while they lasted and the feelings which resulted from the trio's many ordeals came and went.

But there were feelings within Hermione which never seemed to pass. Feelings for Harry beyond friendship.

But Hermione would never expect the Boy-Who-Lived to pick her instead of the likes of Cho Chang and Fleur Delacour. She doubted he would ever see her in the same way that she saw him. Ever since first year, when she saw (from behind one of the castle's many columns) Harry defending her against Ron after that Charms lesson in which they'd learnt the _Wingardium Leviosa_ floating charm, she had been secretly harbouring a crush for this boy who never seemed to be able to keep his glasses intact for the whole of the summer break. He was the reason she was still here today...albeit, shovelling snow into a bucket for hours on end.

He was also the one who didn't laugh when she turned into a likeness of Millicent Bulstrode's cat, who hadn't made quick assumptions about Crookshanks' involvement with the disappearance of Scabbers, who truly appreciated her homework help, who was always a gentleman and hardly ever got into a disagreement with her. In many ways, she admired him more for his humbleness than for his heroic traits. He was the one who always stayed by his friends' bedsides when they were injured/unconscious/petrified/etc. and the one who lay there patiently when he was injured/unconscious/petrified/etc. listening to his friends' constant bickering.

Hermione collapsed onto the snow after several hours, each bush in sight with a small hedge of snow around its base composed of the snow which used to rest in a thick layer over Hogwarts' driveway. And all this for the disappointingly-thick Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and his cronies. It seemed almost ironic. She cast her eyes up to the cloud-filled sky and kept them open even though a few flakes of snow had made their way onto her eyeballs.

Moments later, she blacked out.

  
  
  
  



	2. Warming Up

**Chapter Two**

"Okay team, it's getting late so I want you all to get a good night's sleep. I don't want to see any of you with droopy eyelids before or during the match. I know you know how important it is that we win and I know I don't have to remind you. Now get your butts inside so you don't all get pneumonia," Harry barked at his team. The match was only days away and he was already coming down with something like looked a lot like a cold. He sniffed and breathed a cool puff of air out as he stepped into the inviting warmth of the changerooms.

The wind had been bitingly cold and was getting stronger as the practise had progressed. If it was not for the danger involved in continuing to train during a snowstorm, Harry would've kept the team going for at least another half hour or so. However, it seemed evident that even if they had stayed longer, it would not have helped as every member—even Harry—was frozen like ice statues stuck to flying broomsticks. His arms felt barely able to reach out far enough to get a good grip on his broom, let alone catch a Snitch buzzing around at blinding speeds. No, Harry decided, it wouldn't have been prudent and would've certainly been cruel to keep them out when they would be better off inside, snug, warm and safe. Just as he hoped Hermione was now. After all, her detention couldn't have lasted as long as Quidditch practise had been.

Not to mention that his team would hate him for it. Grumpy players did not read good players in Harry's thesaurus.

He finished changing and had packed all his things away and had his broom firmly grasped in his slightly-less-frozen hands. Waving a quick goodbye to Ron and his fellow team mates, he set off toward Gryffindor Tower to warm up in front of the fire and get a move on his Potions essay. It never seemed to stop amazing him how bad a choice deciding to be an Auror seemed to be right now. However, if he wanted to do it (and Professor McGonagall had expressed many times that she believed he had the ability to reach such a goal), he'd have to face up to Snape's ways and finally take a firm grip on his Potions studies. It was a requirement. But it didn't mean it didn't still suck.

He looked around the nearly-deserted common room and found no trace of Hermione. Harry shrugged and went up to the dormitories to drop off his things. He picked up a small stack of research materials, a few rolls of parchment, a bottle of ink and his eagle-feather quill. She must be in the library again, he thought with a disappointed sigh. He wouldn't be able to ask her all about her own essay after all. How was he, Harry Potter, going to finish a Potions essay on Distortion Brews without a single shred of help from the penultimate *brain* of the whole of the sixth-year? There was no way he was going to even make a passing grade for it without her help...

Just as he touched quill to parchment, intending to finish a paragraph he had started but never finished because of yet another one of Ron's dilemmas, Ron and Ginny came tumbling through the portrait hole laughing until they were having difficulty controlling their breathing.

"Oh...Ginny, that look...priceless. I wish...Colin...had been...there. Preferably...with a camera...of course," Ron said between gasps pained laughter. He calmed down after taking a few deep breaths. "I can see it right now. Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One, 2500 galleons. Quidditch robes, 30 galleons. Being caught with your pants down? Priceless. Oh, I love Muggle television. Especially the ads."

"Oh, Harry, you have to hear this one. Trevor got free again and found his way into Malfoy's pants. Neville was having difficulty deciding whether to laugh or be scared. Crabbe and Goyle ended up having to drop Malfoy's daks to get Trevor out," Ginny said as she burst into another bout of uncontrollable laughter. "It was hilarious. You missed the best thing to happen since Umbridge left."

Although Harry was still worried about his essay (and Hermione's apparent absence), he couldn't help but laugh. He could picture it in his mind and could see the expression on Malfoy's face as if he'd witnessed it himself. It nearly beat the time Moody, who was actually Mr Crouch Jr., had turned Malfoy into a ferret in fourth year. They hadn't dared to laugh in front of McGonagall, of course. Then again, what could possibly beat that? Hey, even Hermione laughed about it even though it was plainly in violation of some sort of Hogwarts rule...somewhere.

"Ah, ooh, oww..." Ron complained as his laughter finally died down. "I never knew laughing could hurt so much. I think I got a worse stitch just then than from climbing Stoatshead Hill to take that Portkey to the World Cup last, last year. And, remember? Hermione got it even worse than me that time. Now I can pity the both of us. Speaking of, where is she?"

Harry shrugged and sat back down to continue his homework. Ron and Ginny disappeared up to the dormitories and the sounds of loud laughter drifted down not long after. The sounds of the rest of the team returning came and went and they, too, learnt and laughed over Malfoy's incident with Trevor the toad.

Several inches of parchment later, Harry glanced at the old grandfather clock which stood on the other side of the common room. It was getting late and it had never been a habit of Hermione's to ever stay at the library so late (not that Madam Pince wouldn't ask her to leave anyway). Dropping his things onto his armchair, he got up and put on a warm cloak. He also fetched his Invisibility Cloak and momentarily wished he could Apparate instead.

Marauder's Map in hand, he set off toward the nearest flight of stairs. Not far from the Entrance Hall was a dot labelled 'Hermione Granger'. That's strange, Harry thought. Her dot wasn't showing any signs of movement at all.

He ran as quietly as he could so as to not attract anyone's attention, particularly from Peeves, Filch and Snape. Mrs Norris appeared to be up at the Astronomy Tower—far away from where he was, thankfully.

As he descended down the last flight of stairs and opened the front door to the castle, a gust of wind chilled his exposed neck through his heavy cloak and his concern mounted for Hermione's wellbeing. The weather outside had grown choppier than when he had dismissed the team from practise and the temperature had certainly dropped at least a few degrees.

Surely enough, when he stepped outside and his visibility had improved, he saw a cloak-covered figure lying in the snow. It was a Hermione-shaped figure. Beside her was a shovel and beside that was a wooden bucket which had tipped over and was beginning to roll in the direction the wind was blowing. On her other side was Crookshanks, who was pressed up against Hermione's neck and occasionally licked her cheek. It looked to Harry as if Crookshanks was trying to warm his owner up.

Harry wasted no time in settling by her side and reaching into his pocket for his wand. He threw off his Invisibility Cloak and left it to one side, forgetting about it completely in his panicked state.

He lifted a hand to her cheek. She felt cold—freezing, even. Whatever state she was in, it was no state to be stuck out in the middle of such a storm. Harry prayed she would make it through—either way, he still wouldn't be able to benefit from her wealth of knowledge for the Potions essay. Not that that was as important as Hermione's health, of course...

"_Tepidius_!" he shouted into the wind and pointing it at Hermione. She glowed slightly pink and settled to her normal colour. It was a reversal spell intended to be used for those who had been hit by the _Petrificus Totalus_ hex. 'It is also useful for warming up living things and is very different from the _Caleode Exigoro_ heating spell, which, if used on living things can cause them to burst into flames. ('Urgh, Hermione, please, you didn't have to tell us _that_.') Yes, I know, Ron. A very undesirable effect, so don't you dare forget,' Hermione had said while in the midst of studying for their O.W.L.s earlier in the year.

Everything she had said still resounded in his mind—her voice had that kind consequence. Kind of like Professor McGonagall's chastising, really. (This, she would probably take as compliment and would very likely be followed by a long minute-and-a-half of gushing about what a good teacher Professor McGonagall was and how much she'd learnt from her.)

The wind beat angrily at their faces and he was amazed at his own stupidity (or maybe it was forgetfulness) for not having thought to have put on a scarf or even a pair of gloves. No matter now though. The more important thing was to get them all out of the snow at this point.

Harry draped one of her arms around his shoulder and threw one of his own arms under her knees. His remaining arm reached under her back and supported the upper part of her body. She still looked to be unconscious, but Harry could feel that she was now warmer than she was before.

He carried her inside with Crookshanks following not far behind dragging the Invisibility Cloak in his mouth. With Hermione in his arms, he began to climb the stairs without a single thought of being caught in the corridors this late at night on his mind.

The Hospital Wing had never seemed so far away.


	3. Nonsense

**Chapter Three**

"Goodness, Mr Potter, what's happened?" asked Madam Pomfrey as soon as Harry burst through the heavy oak doors which now stood wide open and had made clattering sound which had woken up a student who was sleeping near the end of the wing. He appeared to be young, about second-year, with an arm which had been improperly enlarged and was now wrapped in bandages soaked in potion.

"Uh..." Harry couldn't think clearly. "This...she...I..."

"Is this...hypothermia?" Madam Pomfrey asked, looking at Hermione's eyes and felt the temperature of her hands. No sooner had she asked, she popped a Swift-Read thermometer into Hermione's mouth. "Yes, I was right."

"Wh-what should I do? Can I help? I tried to warm her up with the _Tepidius_ spell, but I guess she was out in the cold too long or something. She cooled down so quickly while I was coming and—"

"Calm down, Mr. Potter. Stop panicking. I'm glad you did that spell, now she just needs a few hot water bottles to keep her extremities warm and she'll be fine. And some Anti-Sniffle All-Purpose Potion, of course," Madam Pomfrey said as she hurried around preparing everything. "As for you...you can sit down and not get in the way."

Harry obeyed and sat down in the nearest chair to where Hermione was now resting. She had hot water bottles at her feet, hands and legs and was covered by several thick woollen blankets. Still in her mouth was the Swift-Read thermometer and Harry could see that the liquid inside was beginning to make its way back to the 'Right as Rain' reading.

He silently and patiently watched Madam Pomfrey hovering around Hermione for the next half hour. He felt his eyes getting droopier and his state of alertness falling. Before long, he couldn't resist the beckoning of fatigue.

He hadn't noticed he'd fallen asleep until the next morning, when he woke up, still in his chair.

*****

Hermione lay in the hospital bed, lingering between a state of sleeping and waking. Her mind drifted and finally landed on Harry, who looked dreadful—yet, in a way, rather adorable—with his chin resting on his chest and his arms folded and seemed to be nearly falling out of the chair; he would have if the chair hadn't any arms.

It was still snowing outside and she remembered her detention. Oh no, she thought, I haven't finished. I only had a few minutes left until I was done and... How will this look on my record? Will it even be on my record if I passed out because of the cold? And what happened to Professor Whats-her-name?

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey came up to her to check her temperature again, not knowing Hermione was half-awake. She made a small 'hmm' noise as she glanced at the reading and walked off to attend to her other patient. She groaned, starting to lever herself up into a sitting position, feeling a quite stiff and finally giving up and flopping back down on the mattress. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to block out the brightness of the light outside.

*****

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was a miracle...Madam Pomfrey hadn't chucked him out. That had to be a first. He got up from the chair and paused mid-action and winced at the pain and tingling in his muscles. He wanted to have verbal outlet for his pain with something like an 'Oww', or perhaps some nice hissing, but couldn't in fear of waking Hermione up.

Ah, that's better, Harry thought as his nerves finally began to work again, nearly falling backwards into the chair as he got used to the feeling in his legs. He chanced a glance at the time and discovered that it was still fairly early. He could still make it back to the common room and do more of his essay before he had to go breakfast, if he hurried.

He looked at Hermione with an expression of concern written in every part of his body language, except for his spine, which was still stuck in the sleeping-in-a-hard-wooden-chair-all-night funk. He bent over and put his palm up to her cheek and raised his thumb up to her chapped (currently, but usually they would be about as hydrated as any other person's) lips. Taking a longing look at his friend, he brought his own hydrated lips to her warm skin and placed a gentle kiss dead-centre on her forehead.

"Wake up soon, Mione."

He left after a lingering moment of staring in hopes of seeing his friend wake up, leaving Madam Pomfrey startled at the sound of the opening and closing of the doors only moments after turning her back towards them. But no more startled than Hermione currently was.

She shot up into an upright sitting position, ignoring any and all stiffness in any part of her body as soon as she heard the doors bang closed.

"Did Harry just call me 'Mione'?" she muttered to herself. "And since when did he kiss me...*anywhere*?"

Madam Pomfrey peered around a dividing screen and frowned. "Miss Granger, what are you doing awake at this time in the morning? I trust you don't want to miss any of your lessons." Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a knowing look.

Hermione gasped at the thought and spared no more contemplation for anything besides falling back to sleep.

That, in itself, was harder than it sounded. How could she fall asleep when one of her best friends had given her a pet name *and* had kissed her on the forehead as if he'd truly meant it? (Or had veered off-course and decided it would be safer flying north?)

She turned over and tried squeezing her eyes shut.

No use.

What am I going to do? Hermione thought desperately. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him smiling or mouthing 'Mione' at her, as if her mental imaging skills were similar to a poorly-developed wizard photograph.

The more she thought, the less it made sense and the less it made sense, the more she thought.

She was no tomboy, but could there be other perils in befriending a much larger number of guys than girls?

Like, say, falling for one of them?

To Hermione, it was as nonsensical as the Hogwarts grading system. And according to Ron, anything she used that to describe was equivalent to the nonsensicality of starting a project due in a month when you already have 4 others due the next week. Or maybe the concept of the, "verbal non-verbal".

The strange thing was that none of these were nonsense. But wouldn't that mean that falling for Harry wasn't truly nonsense on second thoughts?

Hermione didn't get a chance to consider the Hogwarts grading system for the hundredth time—she'd finally fallen asleep.


	4. Accusation

**AN:** Sorry about the time it took for me to write this. I've been busy lately with a whole pile of school stuff and a pretty big test to study for tomorrow... I wish I could write longer chapters, but if I did, it would take too long to write just one chapter and I don't ever have nearly enough to write about to squish it all into one big thing. This way is just the same as reading a four-page chapter, just...spaced out. You know? REVIEW!! And thx to all who reviewed previous chapters...

**Chapter Four**

As soon as Hermione woke, she saw Madam Pomfrey bent over her. She was looking at a clipboard and was scribbling things on it every now and then. At the end of her bed was a trolley loaded with potions in bottles of all shapes and sizes. On top of the trolley was a large, jug-like bottle containing a blue-green liquid. Beside the bottle was a spoon. Beside the spoon was a clock.

"Ah, Miss—"

"Ten o'clock?" Hermione yelled, spring up into a sitting position. "I'm sorry Madam Pomfrey, I know my health should be my priority but I have an Arithmancy test and a Potions essay to hand in and—"

"And you will have to do all that tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, giving Hermione a look which plainly told her to get back under the blankets. "I will not have you gallivanting about with such a temperature."

She blinked twice out of disbelief. "Temperature?"

"Yes, you have a very bad case of what I believe Muggles call...uh...'flu'," she said uncertainly, as if she expected to have said it wrong. "Now, keep still while I figure out how to cure this."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You mean, you've never treated the flu before? Are you sure this is safe?" She winced in fear as she watched Madam Pomfrey pour several of her potions into a glass she had conjured. It was smoking and foaming so much that the whole of the cloth which covered the top of the trolley now appeared to be stained a muddy green. "I mean, this could be like...polydrug use."

"I assure you Miss Granger. I'm as qualified as a medi-wizard after treating the Weasley twins, your friend Harry Potter *and* his father," Madam Pomfrey said, curling up her nose as a slight stench began to waft from the mixture she'd created. It was no longer smoking nor foaming, but it had already turned pink and was beginning to turn brown.

Hermione curled her nose up as well. "Maybe you should just...give me some tissues and let me heal naturally." She didn't want to know what the potion would do to her. Who knew if she would start sprouting ears on her arms? Although, from her memory, Madam Pomfrey was able to remove ears from Fred Weasley's legs...

"Nonsense. I will not have anyone stay in this wing for more than a week unless absolutely necessary, " she said grumpily. "Here, drink this."

Hermione gave one last desperate look at Madam Pomfrey, suppressed a groan and drank the hideous potion, her nose pinched with her other hand.

It tasted as bad as it looked.

"Yes, yes, drink it all up."

"Eurgh...never make *anyone* drink that ever again," Hermione said, screwing up her face with her tongue poked out as far as it would go. "I feel like throwing up now."

"Lie down, and I promise you'll feel better than you felt before you drank it," Madam Pomfrey said, forcing Hermione to relax and settled back down onto the mattress. While Hermione lay unmoving, she bustled about putting everything back in place and wheeling the trolley around to give a dose of potion to her only other patient.

When Madam Pomfrey returned, as much as Hermione didn't want to admit it, she felt quite a bit better. She felt less lethargic and normal in every other department, the most noticeable being her temperature. It was back down to 'Right as Rain'.

"I think the taste is still in my mouth, though."

"Ah, well, that's a good sign."

"So when can I go back to class?" she asked excitedly. She was practically wringing the sheets as she watched Madam Pomfrey making up her mind.

"Well...I guess you can leave when the bell for lunch has rung," she replied.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," Hermione said, near squealing.

"But"—Hermione's face fell—"you must rest between now and then. And you may not leave a second earlier. Understood?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey..."

*****

Harry nearly slept all the way through History of Magic. Not that that was any different to any other History of Magic class. It was just a lot more boring when he only had Ron to pass notes to. He even tried doing the work and reading the passages as instructed by Professor Binns, but it just seemed pointless. He was teaching the exact same thing as yesterday. He seemed to have lost his place in his lesson plans or something.

From beside him, Ron gave a huge yawn and started scribbling on the desk. Every few minutes he would stop and take a few more notes, not yet realising that they had already learnt and noted everything the Professor was teaching the day before. Harry rubbed his eyes several times to try to stay awake, but inevitably gave up and slumped in his seat.

The drone of Professor Binns' voice was, after a gruellingly long stretch of time, interrupted by the joyous ringing of the bell. Finally, lunch.

"I'm starving," said Ron.

Harry didn't reply. He just shrugged and walked the tiniest bit faster.

"Hey, Harry, what's up with you?" Ron asked, stopping Harry by grabbing a firm hold on his shoulder. "You're not still worried about Hermione are you? You saw her this morning, she's fine."

"No...I, uh, just have a Potions essay to finish and I've only got until the end of lunch," said Harry, covering up his behaviour with an excuse that was sure to work on Ron. He still hated Snape just as much as before, even though he no longer took Potions.

"Well, I warned you about taking Potions. Snape's habits die hard. Actually, they don't die at all," Ron mumbled on until they finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower. "Actually, I wish he'd—"

"Hermione?" Harry called out as soon as they stepped through the portrait hole. "What are you doing out of the hospital wing so quickly?"

Hermione, only just noticing the arrival of her two best friends, could only smile and shrug. "What? Don't you trust Madam Pomfrey after all you've been through?"

"Well..." Harry found it wasn't necessary to reply. Hermione was always right anyway.

"I'll take that as being a positive answer."

Ron glanced at the exchange between Harry and Hermione and rolled his eyes. Once again, it was like they were speaking gibberish. Oh would they just get together already, he thought in a silent prayer to anyone who might have access to his thoughts. Am I supposed to believe in God? Ron asked himself. Because if he is, he's doing a bloody bad job right now...

"Since I have no desire to hear about Potions, see you later," Ron said, turning to leave. At the last minute, he turned back around and said, "And can you please spare the rest of us from all the googly eyes going back and forth between you? It's bordering on incessant."

Ron left as Harry and Hermione looked at each and gulped.

"Did he just say...'googly eyes'?"

"Yes."

"Are we doing that?"

"No?"

"Are you sure?"

"No?"

They were now lost for words. They hadn't ever looked at each other in that way (at least not directly), had they?


	5. Two–Sided Triangle

AN: Sorry about the wait. I have an assignment (or five) I should actually be doing, but my arm is too tired cos the one I'm doing now is supposed to be completely handwritten :S Anyway, enjoy, please review if you have 2 mins of free time. It would be much appreciated :D The next chapter should come soon as well, since I have my idea in a fully formed-thought. And don't worry, it won't suddenly take a R/Hr turn. HMS PUMPKIN PIE, through and through.

Sorry again for the shortness, but I planned it to be much longer, but figured it wouldn't work in terms of timing. I had a scene already written, but it was set in the future of several days and I still had all the following one and a half chapters to get through. So, yeah, R&R > read and RELAX :)

  


**Chapter Five**

"I mean, yes, I'm sure," Harry corrected himself. "We're definitely not doing that. Observe—me looking at you without 'googly eyes' at all." He stared her straight in the eyes and his thoughts wandered. He wondered whether it was true that the eyes were the windows to the soul. If his were, then why hadn't they become cloudy? He'd witnessed so much death, so much destruction, so much hate...it was hard not to feel as if his soul should be dirty. Could Hermione see this? Or did she see something else?

Hermione broke eye contact a split second after she saw the way Harry was looking at her. "I agree, we're not," she said, looking down at her twitching hands. She was nervous. How was Ron *really* feeling? Had his crush on her faded overnight? Or was he plotting something? No, she decided, he would never do that. Not to me and not to Harry. Unless...?

Harry mumbled on, "I, uh, just need to get my books for Potions. Did you finish your essay?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I finished it days ago," Hermione said without thinking. Her mind was just too muddled to be working properly. There was something going on and it was obvious that Ron was acting suspiciously. Usually he would always be trying to get her attention. Tapping her on the shoulder to ask for homework help, wandering by and asking if she would like to play a game of Wizards' Chess, or mentioning the fact that they were going to have Quidditch practice ('Do you want to come and watch?'). Now he was forcing her on Harry?

"Oh, right..." Harry trailed off. "Well, see you in the Great Hall. Or have you already eaten?"

Hermione lifted her head to look him in the eyes. Maybe it was her imagination, but he looked...concerned. About her wellbeing, about everything. It was in his body language and most of all, the clear green eyes she'd avoided just before. Sure, she liked Harry. But she couldn't possibly risk everything for a romantic relationship with him, not at the cost of their friendship and both their friendships with Ron. It was possible that it wouldn't work out anyway. She paused, about to reply. No, it wouldn't be worth it. Even if means I won't ever know what could've been, she thought. "Sorry, I already had lunch in the Hospital Wing. I'll see you in Potions later."

"Oh...okay then. I'll see you then."

As soon as Harry had left the room, Hermione made a beeline for the kitchens. She was absolutely starving and could really care less about elfish welfare right now.

*****

"So, Harry, got a date for the Yule Ball yet? Ron asked, pulling a dinner roll in half and spreading butter on it. Harry watched with eyes drawn for a few moments before he realised that it appeared that Ron's hands were shaking...only very slightly though. It was hardly noticeable.

He gave Ron a Look, and continued to pick at his lunch. Suddenly his spaghetti looked as unappealing as the thought of a sardine ice-cream (seemed conspicuously like too much Enid Blyton influence right there). "About what you said before—there's nothing going on between Hermione and me. What made you think that? Hermione and I, we're just friends."

Ron nearly let go of the hugest snort he'd ever had the compulsion to form, although if he had, he would surely have soup coming out of his nostrils by now. "You're lying and you know it. I can't stand seeing the both of you like this anymore. Please, just fess up. The both of you."

"No, Ron, you're mistaken," Harry said, banging a fist on the table only lightly enough to attract the attention of people sitting a few feet away from them on the Ravenclaw table. "I know you have...I don't know, but it's *something* for Hermione. *You* should ask her."

"This is ridiculous, and so is what you just said. I like her as a friend," Ron replied in hushed tones. He was turning red very quickly and looked anything but convincing. "I'm sure Dumbledore didn't give us this Ball 'as a treat' so we can fight over who likes Hermione. So it's settled. You like her."

"No I don't. *You* do. You're just scared she'll say no," Harry hissed back.

"No I'm not. Besides, why would she do that? She's not that kind of girl."

"I guess, but still, you should ask her. You know you want to," Harry said, stabbing his fork into his spaghetti.

"What are you talking about? I wasn't even thinking that." As Ron spoke, he gestured with his spoon, attracting strange looks from all around the Great Hall.

"Yes you were. Just ask her." Harry shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth.

"No I wasn't! What made you think that? I thought I made it pretty clear that I reckon you and Hermione have the hots for each other."

"No, this is about something else. I have no clue what it is, but just ask her already," he snapped.

"Fine then, I will," Ron said, letting his spoon fall with a loud _clang_ back into his now-empty bowl.

"Fine," Harry responded angrily.

"Fine."

"Fine."

Ron's eyes widened as he watched Harry leave the Great Hall, bag slung over one slouched shoulder and looking completely, well, pissed off about the whole thing. "Great...me and my big mouth."

*****

"Harry!" Hermione shouted after her friend. Something was up. It was obvious to even Malfoy, who had sensed that his insults weren't even being heard right from the beginning of the lesson. "Harry! Wait up!"

Potions had been quiet—much too quiet—and she knew from the moment he had entered the room that he was having a personal crisis. If only I was an Occlumens, thought Hermione, then I could know. Perhaps that's one of the reasons Snape seemed slightly less harsh towards Harry's work today. Nah, she decided, Snape has a better chance of having a good day than Harry has of Snape being nice to him just because he had a bad day.

Hermione glanced gingerly back towards the Potions lab. Snape was standing in the doorway with his arms folded and had his eyes squinted in Harry's direction. She turned back toward Harry and found that she was unable to explain why Snape would ever look at Harry like that.

"Harry!" She started running after Harry and didn't stop until she bumped straight into... "Ron!"

"Hermione? What are you doing running around in the halls like that?" Ron asked, watching her huffing and puffing from exhaustion. "I thought you'd gone mad."

"I was chasing after Harry," she said. "He didn't say a word to me more than 'can you please pass that jar?' during double Potions. Is he...angry at me or anything?"

"I...I don't know," he lied. "You'd have to ask him yourself."

"That was what I was going to do. Except I kind of got into a traffic jam with you," she said, laughing despite herself. "I'll see you in the common room later, then."

"Wait!"

Hermione turned back around, not sure if she should really be in a rush or not. Harry was far too predictable to be difficult to find. "What is it?"

"Uh...never mind, Hermione. Go find Harry."


	6. The Creevey Brothers

**AN: PLEASE! Halfway through the chapter, don't stop reading. I hope I'm making it pretty clear that although Ron likes Hermione, she doesn't like him back. So, don't flame. I'm really working hard on getting chapters done quickly, but it really helps if I get reviews... I have about 4 assignments to do, so I want to prioritise and...:D hmmmm...*wink wink, nudge nudge* I know my chapters don't look very long, but I've done extremely long chapter before and it didn't really work. Besides, cliffies are fun.**

Kudos to IcyShadow for the review. I love cookies, but its no good trying to tempt me cos I'm the kind of person who licks the flavouring off biscuits *g* You see, cookies don't have that, so it doesn't work very well. :P ENJOY...

**Chapter Six**

"Harry?" Hermione called as she weaved her way around the busy Gryffindor common room. "Harry?"

Two flashes of blondish-brown hair came into Hermione's view. "Looking for Harry?" the Creevey brothers asked, grinning mischievously.

"No, I'm looking for tomato soup by the name 'Harry'," Hermione replied sarcastically. "Have you seen him?"

"Well..." Colin started to say.

"...We saw him," Dennis finished for him. "I mean, it was a few minutes ago. We're not really sure where he is anymore."

"Okay then, where do you think he went?" Hermione asked, beginning to become slightly agitated. The Creevey brothers were nice (and handy when it came to observation), but they were rather grating when they were around for more than a few seconds at a time. Or maybe it was just because she was too much of a square to appreciate their eccentricity, like with the Weasley twins.

"We think he went to the library," Colin butted in before Dennis had the chance to play with Hermione's mind any further. She seemed too desperate to find Harry to be cruel to. "We saw that he had books when we passed him on the way here, on the staircase. We saw him take that corridor."

"You're nosy, but you know we love you. You should become...reporters," she gushed, and took off out the portrait hole again. Taking her time, she walked at a normal, but brusque, pace toward the familiar direction of the library. She didn't need to think what he could possibly be in there for—he was hiding. He knew she would never think to look in there. He only ever went when she was with him and if not, only for a few minutes at a time. In which case he would've been back in the common room already, with an armful of borrowed books.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice called out, as she descended her second flight of stairs. "Found him yet?"

"Colin thinks he's in the library, so I'm going to check it out," she said, joining Ron on the next landing. "Might as well. I don't have any other clues anyway."

"I'll come with you," Ron jumped in. "I mean I need to talk to him anyway."

"Are you sure you don't know what's up with him?" she asked, with growing suspicion towards Ron.

"Not entirely, no."

"Odd, isn't it?" she said. She tilted her head to one side and looked at Ron, who was looking straight ahead and looked deep in thought. Kind of like Harry, she thought.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron finally said.

They had arrived at the library and upon entering, found that it, too, was buzzing with energy from students about to go home for Christmas, mostly first- through to third-years. Madam Pince wasn't at the front desk as she usually was. Instead, she was flitting from table to table, asking people to settle down and speak in quieter voices, which was understandable as people were nearly shouting across the room.

"How are we supposed to find him in *here*?" Ron asked, gulping. He scanned the large space and couldn't even find a trace of anyone in fourth-year, let alone sixth. "There are all these...little people in here."

"Exactly, so he should be easy to find then," she pointed out. "Let's check between the stacks first."

"I hope Colin wasn't just fooling with you," he said as they reached 'Hags – Hellbeasts' in the non-fiction section with still no sign of Harry.

"He wasn't. I'm sure. He looked serious this time." A few minutes later, in 'Snakes – Stun', Hermione remembered what Ron had started to say before she'd rushed off. "What was it you wanted to ask me before?"

"What? When?"

"It was about half an hour ago. You said you wanted to ask me something," she said while still keeping her eyes moving through the shelves for eyes peeking through the shelves and as always, interesting reads.

And, of course, Harry.

"Oh...that," he said dejectedly. He'd hoped she would've forgotten. But who was he kidding? Hermione wouldn't forget anything unless she had a curse placed upon her. "Well, I..."

"Come on, spit it out," she said, smiling. It looked to her as if he was nervous about asking someone to the Ball and wanted to know, from a girl's perspective, whether he had a chance or not. Did he have a crush on anyone? Was it someone she knew?

"Okay, okay," Ron said, giving up. "Will you go to the Ball with me?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she paused in mid-step. Does that mean he's asking me because I'm a friend or because he likes me? She didn't have time to think about it, though. It was clear that Ron liked her as more than a friend. Still. She had hoped he'd gotten over it and fallen for someone who would be able to like him back.

She turned around to face him and smiled warmly. His cheeks had grown rather pink. "Well, I couldn't very well say no, could I?"

"But I don't want you to go with me just because you feel ob—" he started to say, but was interrupted from the moment he started to make the 'o' sound in 'obliged'.

"Nonsense. It's not like anyone else has asked me anyway," she said, grinning. "Glad to see you realised that I'm a girl this time. Besides, it would've ended up being either you or Harry no matter what."

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes was watching from the next row of stacks. The owner of the eyes was also using their ears, attentively listening to the conversation. Harry had thought he had been a little ticked off by Ron before, but now he could see that it had gotten even worse. He had the awful suspicion that Ron had planned the whole immature argument just so he could ask Hermione to the Ball without feeling extremely guilty about it.

He made a quick exit as soon as he saw they had moved on. He wasn't going to be fussed by this. He knew a long time ago that Ron liked Hermione, but now he didn't know whether to feel wronged by him or to apologise to him about being such an ass.

"You two are hopeless, you know that right?" Hermione continued to tell Ron. "I don't know why I even bother."

*****

"What day is it today, Wormtail?" a rasping voice spoke from the chair that stood in the middle of the room. The chair, a maroon leather chesterfield, faced the fireplace and had long since started to look its age.

Wormtail quivered slightly and glanced reluctantly at the calendar on the wall. "Ah, a week until Christmas, my Lord. It's the 18th of December."

"I know how to subtract, thank you very much, Wormtail. What day of the week is it?" the voice rasped again in a considerably angrier tone of voice. It seemed to him that his least trustworthy servant was off thinking his master a fool.

"Um...um...Sunday?"

"The Sabbath is it? How ironic."

"Uh, uh, why is it ironic, my lord?" Wormtail spoke again in a shaky voice. He sensed that his master was conjuring a plan that could very well get him killed or captured or something along those lines. Just being around him for such long periods of time was detrimental to his frame of mind, more so than the ceaseless mutterings of one too many Weasley brothers with psychiatric issues to deal with (enough to confide in their pet *rat*, that is).

"The blessed day of rest, the Sabbath. And Christmas, the birth of Christ," Voldemort said as he rose from his chair and turned his hideous face toward his servant. He snarled and a grin grew upon his face, "This Christmas will see the death of the magical world's very own Saviour. And I won't *rest* until Harry Potter is dead."

"Oh, well, then that is qu-quite ironic th-then."

  



	7. Crushing

**Chapter Seven**

DAY ONE – Monday

_In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was empty, a formless mass cloaked in darkness. And the Spirit of God was hovering over its surface. Then God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. And God saw that it was good. Then he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day" and the darkness "night". Together these made up one day._ — Genesis 1:1-5

*****

It was officially the first day of the Christmas break and Hermione was awoken by the sound of Lavender screaming in her ear, "Wake up, Hermione!"

Hermione didn't heed Lavender's command, and rather, decided to cover her ears and face with a spare pillow. She mumbled something incoherent as she tossed over onto her stomach and readjusted her pillows accordingly.

Lavender grabbed the pillow from Hermione's weak grasp and decided a good shaking was in order as well. "Hermione! Wake up already!"

"No, I'm tired," she muttered just clearly enough for Lavender to get the idea. But she wouldn't give up until Hermione was up and out of bed, dressed and washed.

"Get up, you've already missed breakfast you lazy...I-don't-know-what!" Lavender held onto Hermione's arm and pulled, until she had a better idea. She let go of her arm, which Hermione responded to with a mumble, and gripped the end of the blankets...and pulled.

"Ahh! Lavender! I'm freezing, give my blanket back. It's...crap." She blinked and rubbed her eyes and glanced back at the clock. It was already midday. "Oh. My. God. Lavender. How could you let me sleep in so late?"

"Me? I believe *you* let yourself sleep in, not me," she defended herself. She then pointed to the clock on Hermione's bedside table. "Besides, that wall clock had been wrong for a year. You know that. It's only eleven."

"Oh, sorry," Hermione smiled sheepishly. "So what was it that you wanted?"

Lavender paused and a sheepish look grew upon her face, "Um...I can't remember now."

"Lav—"

"No, wait, I remember now," she said in a sudden flash of brilliance. "Harry asked me to wake you up. He was *worried*." Lavender grinned with a teasing smile and quickly ran off to avoid Hermione's reaction to the insinuation that Harry meant something other than what he had said.

Hermione rubbed her blurry eyes and finally plucked up the energy to get out of bed, wash up and dress. "What the hell is wrong with everyone? Can't let weary people be lazy..." she muttered under her breath. She found herself looking proper, but tired, in the common room searching for a familiar crop of chestnut brown hair. She spotted him in the corner, twirling a pen in between writing in a small book.

"Going all 'Muggle' on us and using pens now, are you?" Hermione grinned at Harry's surprised and rather frazzled expression as he looked up at her.

"Oh! Oh...Hermione, I didn't see you there," Harry quickly tucked his little book into the back pocket of his jeans and shoved a cap on his pen. The pen was abruptly tucked casually behind his ear. "I don't really find it too convenient to drag an inkpot around wherever I go. Or a huge feathery thing for that matter."

"Well, why'd you wake me up? I was having a good dream...I think." Hermione crinkled her eyebrow in thought. She couldn't remember whether she had dreamt at all, actually.

"Didn't Lavender tell you?" Harry paused and laughed, "Mental note: never trust Lavender to carry a simple message."

Hermione didn't reply. Instead she looked expectantly at Harry, wanting to finally find out what it was she had left her cosy blankets for. She hoped it wasn't homework related or anything to do with the Yule Ball. She had gotten so sick of hearing about it that she was even considering not going. If Ron hadn't asked her, she would most likely have stayed in the common room all of that night, curled up with a good book. Now she had a reason to care about what she was going to wear, how she was going to do her hair and all those other nitpicky things she could usually ignore so well.

"Well, I just wanted your opinion on something. You see, one of the guys approached me with this dilemma and—"

"You want a girl's perspective?" Hermione finished his sentence for him.

"Well, yeah," Harry shrugged. "You phrased that so simply...I sort of want to find out how you'd react in a situation like this."

"Okay, fire away," she replied. She slipped into the chair opposite to Harry, "I don't understand why you didn't just ask someone like...Lav or Ginny, though."

"Just hear me out okay?" He sucked in a deep breath and hoped what was about to come out of his mouth wouldn't seem suspicious or untruthful. It wasn't, though it sounded slightly reminiscent of himself and Ron. "Okay, this one guy, not to name any names, likes this girl. He's liked her for ages. And this other guy, one of his best friends, has gradually realised his friendship with this girl is...well, has, turned more romantic in nature."

Hermione could only hear every second word since she had trouble concentrating on anything other than Harry's gaze, but she already knew what she was going to say. "Maybe these two guys should let the girl decide. The feelings have to go both ways for any sort of relationship to work, right?"

"They're chickens. Believe me. It's kind of hard to go up to someone and say, 'Hey, we both have the hots for you. Choose.' You know what I mean?" Harry shifted in his chair, wondering what Hermione could be thinking now. Maybe he really should've proposed the question to someone else instead. It did seem a little...suspect. Once again, damn Ernie and Justin (yes, Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley) for liking Susan Bones and asking *him*—of all people—for advice.

"Yeah, I suppose. But I think she'd rather have a say rather than waiting around for the situation to explode in all their faces..." Hermione's thoughts drifted. Her cheeks brightened as she thought of the possibility that Harry was this "other guy" and that he was referring to Ron.

"True..." He sat there, unmoving for several moments before standing up and making a few notes into his little booklet. "Thanks for the help, Mione. I think Justi—" Harry coughed to cover up the slip. "Umm, these two guys will be glad to resolve this whole fiasco."

She just sat unblinking as she felt herself get dragged out of her thoughts suddenly by not even a word, but a _half-finished one_. "What?" she mumbled to herself. Hermione Granger was confused. "...He called me 'Mione' again. What's up with that?"

Correction: Hermione Granger was _very_ confused. And rightly so.

*****

"I've changed my mind Wormtail. I think I like irony a lot more than I used to now. New plan..."

"What is it, my lord?" Wormtail asked. His voice was shaking and he was trying hard not to run away while he had the chance. He knew he should've stayed in hiding and never returned to Voldemort's service again, but here he was. Being stupid.

"Patience, Wormtail. There is no need to pester me for information when I'm so willing to give it freely." A wicked grin spread upon his face. He had no doubts that the plan would work. The only problem would be overestimating the size of his servant's mouth.

  



End file.
